


Metamorphosis

by SuperLizard



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Eugenics Wars (Star Trek), Flashbacks, Genetically Engineered Beings, Mild Language, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperLizard/pseuds/SuperLizard
Summary: Between lights out and lights up, we missed at least 20 minutes of denouement. Here it is. Khan Noonien Singh awakes in a cell with every reason to be executed.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on ff.net in 2009, another fix-it fic.

There was a dull, throbbing, irrelevant pain in his head. It dragged him out of unconsciousness and left him on the floor of the prison cell, rejoined with the aching toolbox that was his physical form. The prison was clean and well-lit, but had no comforts at all. This was a holding cell, not a final destination where he would wait out the end of his life. His long, miserable failure of a life. Alone, surrounded by ant-like creatures, all the ones like him dead. A wolfdog whose flock had been slaughtered while he watched.

There would be no way out of the cell. They knew him now. He didn't have anywhere to go but the grave, anyway. He pressed himself up to sit against the wall, ignoring the sharp pain from his left shoulder where his opponent had clutched at his nerves so tightly that his bones had separated; his head was still buzzing. Whatever Spock hit him with had been almost enough to kill him.

A sensor on the cuffs of his wrists sensed his movement and sent a notification to the guard's station. Footsteps approached from the end of the block. He sat motionless, watching the glass as the doctor appeared with a tablet under one arm, stopped, and watched him.

"I'd like to say 'welcome back,' but you'd do everyone a big favor if you'd just die." He approached the glass and dragged over the port ring. "You've been out for two days. Can you stand?"

A moment later, the request registered past the buzzing, but the doctor already assumed his was being difficult.

"Those cuffs on your wrists and ankles, they're magnetic. Powerful enough to move a truck where it doesn't want to drive. There's one on your neck that's telling me about your physical state remotely, so I don't have to mess with you as much. Right now, it's telling me you're low on some things that are necessary for keeping you alive. Like red blood cells."

He shuddered, then leaned heavily against the wall and pushed himself to stand against it. He edged over toward the front of the cell, focusing on the doctor and trying not to let his vision cloud. Even so, by the time he slumped against the glass, he couldn't hear past the buzzing.

Dr. McCoy shook his head. "You look terrible. The cuffs are telling me you're not faking." He dragged the port ring down to the level of his patient. "Put your arm through. I'm going to give you an injection of glucose, proteins, some vitamins, and an anti-inflammatory. Depending on how your system reacts, we may step up to painkillers."

He'd never had a painkiller in his life, but it sounded nice. He shakily pushed his arm through the ring and let the doctor do as he pleased. In a few moments, his breathing seemed easier and the buzzing in his head quieted. He let out a sigh and sank to the floor.

Dr. McCoy watched the reaction through the eyes of the sensors in the neck cuff. "As I thought, you over-expended yourself. Your body is only healing using resources it cannibalizes from healthy tissue. As soon as you're able, you need a good meal. And a bath." He pulled the port ring, which deactivated and detached with a quiet pop.

"What are you going to do with me?" he rasped before the doctor could walk away. "Am I to be experimented on? Shall I bleed to save your people?"

Dr. McCoy raised an eyebrow. "As much as I would love the opportunity to decode whatever makes you so damn special, it's really not my decision. It's his."

A second pair of footsteps, lighter and more careful, approached.

Spock stared down at the crumpled man, expressionless.

The buzzing in his head returned. He drew upon a reservoir of energy he didn't know was there, and flung himself at the glass in a mindless fury. "You killed them," he howled. "You killed them all. Every angel and beast of them."

He raised an eyebrow and did not flinch. "I assure you, I did no such thing. Though if they are all like you, perhaps it is better to leave them asleep forever."

His fury withdrew behind a pang of memory. His wife's caramel face made pale by the cold and glass. Waking in confusion and pain, three centuries and 28 souls lost, to be clapped in cuffs and bones broken, not knowing if the other 72 lived or died or where they were. Broken and healed and broken again until he was compliant, until he did what he knew was wanted. "You're lying," he said evenly. "You want something from me."

"Your compliance would be appreciated, but we have already taken what we need from you." He knelt and looked at anguish through glass for the second time that week. "I can show them to you, if you would like. But in return, I want to know everything that has happened to you."

That was a weird requirement. "So you can make more like me? I am the only, and I am the last."

"On the contrary. So we can prevent another of you from being made again, by anyone."

"You can show me my family?" he asked, shaking again. "They're not dead. In return, you want... a story."

"We will attach sensors to your scalp and record memories from the time of your birth on. With the aide of computers, we should be able to put together a narrative and trace any vital records that may exist of your creation."

"It's history, man," the doctor added.

He watched the commander for a long moment. "Show them to me first. I must know."

The commander paused. "The only way I can show you that you will trust and understand, will also give me access to your consciousness. You must trust me in this, or the process will be difficult and possibly painful."

"There are very few ways in which I have not already been violated. Are you sure my consciousness is something you want to access?"

"I am not certain it is what I want, but it appears to be necessary."

He tilted his head against the glass, a picture of misery. "Very well."

Spock placed the port ring on the glass near his face. He and the doctor exchanged looks, then he reached a hand through the glass and placed his fingertips firmly against the skull of a madman.

\--

A pang of physical pain distorted everything, but it was possible to make out lumps of knowledge and snaps of time. The commander's view from the first person of the cryotubes laid out in rows in sick bay, extracted from the torpedoes, with a tired but pleased Dr. McCoy reporting that all of the occupants were alive and unharmed. The view from the Chair, a voice resonating, 'They are your torpedoes.'

The distortion increased as Khan's experience filled in what happened next. An intense fire in the chest, heart exploding not with the crashing ship, but with the realization that the torpedoes were armed. The following catastrophe of bruises and broken bones was nothing compared to that. The ship shuddering to a halt after a hard impact and a long slide. Bones knitting, his body living even though he no longer felt alive. Propelled by grief and hatred across 30 feet of nothing and almost a mile of pavement, searching for a way to do the most harm, barely caring about his pursuer until his demonically alien face appeared and placed revenge between him and his suicide. Alien- everything was demonically alien. The Vulcan, the humans, the earth, space, nothing made any sense now that he was alone.

Neither was sure whose rage was greater at that point. Their memories collided in a jumble of kicks and blows, both of them grieving, furious.

And then darkness. Khan saw himself laid out, a heap of bruises and uselessness, and the hatred that poured from him in that moment almost startled Spock. Uhura's voice, calming the commander and making everything crystal clear again. The distortion faded, the edges of the experience became defined and orderly. They transported up to the Enterprise, where McCoy took the unconscious man's blood, breaking every regulation on prisoner treatment, and gave it to Kirk. Khan being carried and placed unceremoniously but not unkindly in the bare prison cell. Waking up. Uncertainty. Confusion. Pain. Fear. Grief. Isolation. Failure. Suspicion. Surrender. A pale hand reaching toward him. The last ember of hope, rewarded, glowed. Past and present converged.

\--

When the bond broke, Spock was surprised to find himself leaning heavily on the glass, chest aching. It had been a powerful experience and he wasn't sure he understood all of it.

The man stared up at him, face open, body limp. Vulnerable. Compliant. Completely unlike Spock had ever seen him. "Keep them safe, and I will do anything that you want."

"Tell us your story, and then you can go back to sleep."

A sob burst out of him, relief and amusement and exhaustion. He curled in on himself, gasping.

Spock stood and paced away, giving instructions to McCoy as he did. "When he is able, see that he receives a decent meal, access to bathing facilities, and a change of clothes."

"Are you okay?" McCoy asked, concerned.

"I need to see Jim."

"He's still not-"

"I know." A familiar emotion had transferred between them during the meld, and he felt irrational loyalty like he never had before. "I just need to see him. Please, Dr. McCoy. I am unable to explain."

The doctor smiled a little and patted the Vulcan on the shoulder. "No need. You sound more reasonable than ever."

..

Spock returned to the medical bay early the next morning. McCoy and two security officers already had Khan out of the cell and in the scanner. One guard stood at the foot of the scanner, one at the head, blasters drawn and aimed at the floor. Everyone seemed a little tense.

"Gentlemen," Spock greeted. "Has there been a problem?"

The doctor didn't look up from the readouts on his computer screen. "The patient began having breathing troubles shortly after you left. This morning, he was unable to stand and walk, so I put him in the scanner. The magnetic cuffs had to come off, so I brought security down, just in case."

The commander joined him behind the computer console, en eyebrow raised. "I do not believe they will be necessary."

The doctor pointed to cracked bones and fractured ribs. "This. Characteristic of injuries sustained during an impact like a car accident, not a dead landing in a star ship. You chased him with some of these; they're too far out of alignment for them to have come from a fistfight, even with you." He pointed out more. "Those are you, though. Remind me never to piss you off."

"He isn't healing."

"He is, and at a faster rate than I've ever seen, but not like Kirk described seeing on Kronos. It could be because the bones aren't properly set. We're going to have to set them, and because his bone composition is totally different than a normal human, we get to do it by hand." He sighed. "I'm surprised he didn't just solve himself and go into shock and die."

Spock was almost surprised at the hostility the doctor let creep into his voice. Even to a half-human, it was obvious. "Doctor, are you able to treat this patient with sound judgment?"

"No," the doctor surprised him. "But I can still treat him better than anyone else would."

That was hard to argue. When the computer beeped a signal that the scan was complete, Spock picked up the magnetic cuffs from the console and approached the scanner. The security guards lifted their phasers and stood ready. Spock watched as the scanner opened automatically to reveal a man bare, bruised, and broken, but somehow invulnerable. He leaned forward not unquickly and attached the neck cuff.

Khan reached up and placed a hand on Spock's forearm, not grasping. They looked upon each other for a moment only.

"I do not believe the presence of security is necessary nor beneficial at this time."

The security guards took the hint and dismissed themselves.

Spock helped the patient to sit up, then placed on the wrist and ankle cuffs not tightly. "Mr. Singh, the doctor has briefed me on your medical status. You have some broken bones that we will need to set."

He looked about to speak, but the words escaped. He nodded instead. Before he could form the request into words, Dr. McCoy handed Spock a white cotton robe, which Spock offered to him. He took it and tried to get it around himself, but stopped and exhaled raggedly, tasting copper.

Spock quickly tucked the robe around him and guided him to lie down again. "We will transfer you to the gurney. Be still."

They rolled him gently onto the gurney, careful not to move him more than necessary. Spock pulled the gurney over to a table frame, lowered it, and locked it in place. The doctor elevated it so the patient was half reclining. A mechanical arm folded out of the table frame and Bones set his tablet in it, positioned it over the left leg, and called up the relevant image from the scanner. "You tried to set these yourself," he accused. "You did a terrible job."

"There was nothing to brace against," Khan groused.

"Your arms are broken! What are you going to brace yourself with, your teeth? Oh never mind. We need to set these before they knit together wrong. Spock, hold him down."

The commander raised an eyebrow, considering how to do so without causing any more damage. He decided there was no good way at all, so he stood at the head of the examining table and wrapped one arm around the patient's chest to hold him in place.

"This is going to be uncomfortable," the doctor warned.

Khan sat back and closed his eyes. When the doctor wrenched his lower leg into place, he grunted. He kept his eyes tightly closed while the doctor called up the image of the other leg, grasped just above his ankle, and wrenched the other in place.

"You'll have to relax your arms. I can't fix anything while you're all clenched up tighter than a priest at a pride parade."

He focused on transferring the tension to other parts of his body.

The doctor jerked his right humerus into place, then lifted the aching arm and jerked his collar bone back until the swollen ends met and stuck. He put a needle under the skin at that exact point and injected something that burned. "This is a biodegradable polymer. It will hold your bone together for six weeks, then your body will break it down. I'd like to put casts on your other bones, since they're harder to get to."

"No need," Khan dismissed, voice tight. "They should mend in a matter of hours."

Spock released him, but hovered nearby.

Bones stood back and removed his tablet from the mechanical arm, which retracted automatically into the table frame. "You can stay on the table, then, so you don't move around and undo all that hard work. No funny business." He snapped the magnetic cuffs on his wrists, but left the ankle cuffs off for the moment. "I'll give you a nutrient booster in about an hour. Your body is burning through resources. You should try to eat solid food whenever you feel up to it, though. We can order whatever you want, as long as the replicator has the recipe." The silence was getting a little awkward. "Do you want something to read?"

Khan stared at him, trying but failing to remain unreadable. When he spoke, he sounded incredulous. "To read... I killed your captain. You're offering me tea and biscuits and a newspaper? You fixed my bones and... I do not understand you. Why?"

"Because this is how Star Fleet treats prisoners." Bones gave him a crooked smile. "Besides, you didn't kill Jim, you only tried. You actually saved him. From yourself." The crooked smile reached his eyes as he realized the irony. "Tea and biscuits, coming up."

"Wait." Stunned, he worked to find words. "Thank you."

The doctor pointed at him and looked at Spock. "Look, even he has manners." He strolled out of the examination room toward the nearest replicator station.

Spock almost rolled his eyes.

Khan leaned his head back and closed his eyes, thoughts finally overpowering pain. "You showed me a part of your mind. How much of mine did you see in return?"

"I saw enough to suspect that you are a lesser monster than we thought, but not enough to pass judgment on your actions."

"You don't speak lies, but you do lie." He remained motionless, but his irritation was clear in his voice. "Did you see what happened when Marcus awoke me?"

"No." He tilted his head slightly. "Do you think it would be relevant in a determination of your guilt?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment, then replied, "No."

"It will be a part of the recording we make of your memories. We will certainly review it when we piece together the narrative of Admiral Marcus's crimes. Is there anything you believe is necessary for us to see in the interim?"

He didn't answer the question. "You're planning to put me to sleep before any judgment is made."

"Yes."

"I..." he tried to spit out the words, but they were unfamiliar and molasses-thick. "I trust you."

Spock did not expect that.

\--

True to his promise, his bones knit by the evening shift and he obediently returned to his cell, which had been thoughtfully furnished with a panel to read from and a replicator programmed for culinary synthesis. Khan's food requests were more or less recognizable to the replicator, and what came out of the replicator was more or less recognizable to Khan. He ate like a man who hadn't eaten for weeks. He read histories and news. When he slept, he was so still that the attending physicians checked the sensor readouts to be sure he was still breathing. Two days passed before Bones allowed Spock to begin recording.

Spock brought a case of recording equipment and connected to the computer interface before awaking Khan, who was lying very still in the back of the cell. He tapped gently on the glass. "Khan."

Khan twitched, then sat up slowly. He quickly looked beyond the Vulcan to make sure they were the only ones in the room, then without provocation he confided, "That is not my name."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Khan is a title. My name is just Noonien." He stood and came to the glass, stopping at comfortable distance for conversation.

Spock almost smiled. "Noonien. The doctor informs me that you are strong enough to attempt this recording."

He did not reply.

"I have, in light of your previous misdeeds, requested two security officers to be in the room. I hope that you will understand this as an indication of my respect, rather than my distrust."

He smiled. "It would be an indication of your respect if you requested more than two."

"I only enumerated the personnel who would be -in- the room. I did not count those who will be immediately outside."

His smile became genuine. "You do lie all the same."

Spock wasn't certain he liked this recovered, capable Noonien Singh as well as the defeated man of two days before. He let the security guards into the room. They flanked Spock and stood with weapons drawn as the glass slid into the wall, and suddenly it was like they were staring into something as lifeless and terrible as the vacuum of space.

The smile vanished now.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for gore, child abuse, violence, and language throughout

They escorted him to the examining table and instructed him to lie back. Security locked the magnetic cuffs to the metal table. The doctor shaved his head to attach the electrodes. The commander ran wires to the computer and started the decoding and recording program.

"The computer is able to guide you sequentially through your memories, but the process is much faster if you focus and try not to affect the pace or direction," Spock instructed. "The experience is likely to be unpleasant. Some of the experiences will not be within your conscious memory, but stored in your mind and forgotten. Some will be as real as when you experienced them. You are restrained by the cuffs in order to keep you stationary. Are you ready?"

"I am," he replied, trying his best to sound bored.

Spock pressed a button on the computer.

\--

From the notes of Doctor Leonard McCoy

Re: Noonien Singh Recording, Session 1

"Khan" Noonien Singh has no memory of his first moments. For most humans, the moment of birth is printed large on the parchment of the brain, but locked away because of its traumatic nature. The first memory in Noonien's mind is of what appears to be a plastic incubator, common in the 20th century. He was unable to identify the any of the people in his first year as his parents- in fact, he was unable to remember having any parents at all. He identified a woman named Sarina Kaur as the woman who contributed the basic structure of his genetic material, but it is apparent by the obvious differences in their appearances that his genetic material has been altered. Intentionally.

In his first memories, he was identified as a failure by one of the... scientists... that created him. The man stated that while Noonien displayed all of the intended genetic alleles associated with the X chromosome, his Y chromosome alterations were incomplete. Early in his first year, his creators tried to use trauma to correct this, nurture rather than nature, but the outcome wasn't what they wanted. They became impatient with him, and lost interest. They chose to concentrate on his younger, quote, brothers and sisters, unquote.

While Noonien got along quite well with his siblings, as they grew older the difference became clear. His brothers and sisters were vicious and didn't like to think for themselves. They were incredibly intelligent, but independence was intentionally absent from their genetic code. Noonien frequently snuck out of the compound where they lived- in northern India or Pakistan, it was never stated aloud- but he always returned and usually was able to talk his way out of any punishment. In the time away, he found and integrated himself into the society of a Sikh village.

Though he was still a child of seven, he planned a Sikh takeover of the Golden Temple and the assassination of Indira Gandhi, which did in fact take place. While politics are not my strong point- I'm sure Commander Spock will provide notes enough on the political and social implications in his own notes- it seemed he was interested in the assassination plans from an intellectual perspective as well as through loyalty to his adopted family. He was too young to take power himself. The Sikhs, however, had adopted him and called him Noonien Singh, making him one of their own. In return, he created and enforced a belief amongst the locals that a ghost protected the Sikh village and anyone who approached uninvited would be killed. That second part, at least, was true.

The raw recording is paired with neural imaging to gauge his reactions now to what happened back then. The computers are currently analyzing and isolating significant brain activity for possible untruths. It's unlikely the subject can lie to the computer, but still... I wouldn't put it past this guy to find a way.

\--

Noonien returned to his cell without incident. An hour passed. He ordered supper from the replicator and sat cross-legged on the floor, seeming content for the moment.

Spock returned to a room empty of every other soul. It was mostly silent, but for Noonien. He greeted the man politely. "Khan Singh."

Noonien smiled unreadably. "Commander. I didn't tell you my name so you could call me by my title."

Then you should call me by name, as well." He dragged a chair over to the glass and sat. "You are still a vegetarian, though you do not seem to follow all of the customs of the Sikhs."

"Correct. I am not entirely a Sikh."

"What do you consider yourself to be?" He was genuinely curious.

"You are not entirely Vulcan." Noonien didn't answer the question.

Spock raised his chin slightly. "No. My mother was human."

"I might be more Sikh than you are Vulcan. But apples to oranges." He paused for a moment, and Spock wasn't sure who was the subject behind glass. "You're not as emotionless as you wish you were."

"I have... difficulties," he allowed. "Though I have attempted to embrace the culture of my father, it seems my mother has had more influence on me. You did not answer my question."

Noonien finished his meal and put the tray back in the replicator unit for cleaning. He returned to the same place on the floor and sat, cross-legged as before. "I am that I am. I have the good fortune to decide what that means. I find the warrior culture of the Sikh to be more noble than any other warrior culture found on Earth. They were kind to me as no others were, nor have been since. I find the juxtaposition of aggression and benevolence, power and peace, to be the superior way of life. There are many trappings and affectations of the culture that I have no need for- the traditional manner of dress, the ceremonial knife, and so forth. So I did not adopt those. You feel loyalty, love, and curiousity like a human. You are unable to deny those emotions."

Spock could say nothing.

"Are they incompatible with what Vulcan culture finds morally commendable?"

"...No. They are not incompatible with moral standards."

"Only with the 'no emotions' rule."

"Correct."

Noonien nodded. "Then you have already decided what you consider yourself to be, and it is not entirely anything."

He did not answer. There was no question. "You have no connection to the heritage of your father or mother?"

"If they had a heritage, they abandoned it when they began meddling with the natural order of things to create me. No culture was ready to embrace the kinds of atrocities that were committed in the name of resources and racial superiority. But there were many precursors of such things happening in human history, and I doubt the eugenics wars were the last. I was not so effective."

He raised an eyebrow. "It was the last. How do you mean, 'so effective'?"

"You will see."

And the conversation was over.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for vote, child abuse, violence, and language throughout.
> 
> A lot of the characters and beats are from the Greg Cox book and made to fit the new AU, but the prose is mine.
> 
> Also, shout out to Past Me for forecasting the viral epidemic. Yikes on bikes, I was 80 years optimistic.

From the notes of Commander Spock

Re: Noonien Singh Recording, Session 2

Shortly after Noonien Singh's tenth year, a pair of scientists arrived at the compound; he remembers their names as Gary Seven and Roberta Lincoln. The neural imaging shows a suspicion bordering on hostility toward them both, though he hid those emotions well and associated with them both daily. Mr. Seven showed a great interest in the emotional development of all of the children, though he only expressed that interest when other scientists were not present. Ms. Lincoln spent a great deal of time teaching the children about the social customs of various cultures, as well as sociopolitical history.

Young Noonien wanted to trust Ms. Lincoln and stories of the outside world fascinated him. In spite of his status as a failed experiment, he understood and thrived in education beyond any of his brothers and sisters. In his eleventh year, the children began having lessons in the sciences and warfare from Mr. Seven. Noonien still sought time with Ms. Lincoln, which seemed to arouse the jealousy of Mr. Seven.

Noonien has very clear memories of the confrontation with Mr. Seven. After a lesson, upon request, he followed Mr. Seven to the scientist's own quarters, where Mr. Seven expressed the wish that Noonien would study genetics and improve humanity without use of political or military power. Noonien did not reject the idea, but inquired why Mr. Seven came to the compound, if he did not approve of the project's goals. Mr. Seven replied that he was interested in the nuclear reactor that ran the compound and an invention he believed could transport matter from one location to another, but needed an energy source as unlimited as the reactor.

Noonien, suspicious as a man but curious as a child, asked to see this matter transporter in action. Mr. Seven promised to show it to him later, but only if he did as he was told and... removed his clothing. Mr. Seven explained that he wished to know what a young god looked like.

Noonien refused at first. Dr. Seven argued, seeming more agitated over time. He tried to justify his request, then to use guilt to coerce, then threats. Finally, he attempted to physically force cooperation. Noonien, unsure of how to react to such behaviour from an authority figure, avoided the man but did not strike him. Dr. Seven became visibly angry and showed Noonien a device which he described as a remote. It would remove the graphite rods from the reactor core, causing a nuclear meltdown and destroying the compound, along with all of its inhabitants.

Any thorough reader will surely find that Doctor McCoy's notes end abruptly at approximately three hours into the session two recording. He left the room at this time. It falls to me to speculate on the emotional context of the following events, though I am not as skilled in such a thing as the doctor.

Noonien, feeling that he had no choice, obeyed. Mr. Seven then touched him and himself inappropriately, until Noonien's emotional reaction became a physical one- he vomited on his assailant. In the moment of surprise, Noonien took the device from Mr. Seven, disassembled it, then physically assaulted Mr. Seven until the man lost consciousness.

At this moment, it seems appropriate to note the incredible violence with which he exacted his revenge. In the recordings so far, even as he defended his adopted village from potential enemies, he did not intentionally cause pain. His enemies were killed in the quickest and most efficient ways possible. Mr. Seven did not have that blessing; he was beaten savagely, but without any intent to kill. He survived the encounter. Noonien carried him to the medical wing after.

Roberta Lincoln encountered the two in the corridor and seemed to know what had happened. She collected the children together, took them to the medical wing, and with Seven's matter transporter, moved them all out of the compound and several miles away. From their destination, it was possible to view the explosion which followed, as the incomplete matter transporter drew too much from the electrical system of the compound and overloaded the nuclear reactor. From my limited knowledge of 20th century nuclear reactors, I can only speculate that the explosion may have been caused by a pressure breach and control failure.

Once the children saw what had been done to their home, they wanted to kill both Mr. Seven and Ms. Lincoln. By force of personality, Noonien convinced them that the damage was done, and both of them would suffer more from being left in the desolate climate and unfriendly culture of Northern India. The children followed Noonien away, leaving Ms. Lincoln and the physically incapacitated Mr. Seven to die.

\-- 

The doctor returned to the room long after the recording session was over and the prisoner returned to his cell. He paced for awhile in front of the glass, still upset. "That man was an abomination," he said at last. "What he did was unforgivable."

Noonien looked up from his meditative pose. "So am I, and what I've done is also unforgivable. We were all imperfect. Savage."

"We scan people's genes before they're even born, isolate genetic combinations that make people susceptible to that kind of mental illness, and prepare them. We can treat that kind of sickness before it... before they..." He punched the glass, which made a low, resonant thump.

"You're actually upset about this."

"You aren't?"

He raised an eyebrow. "It was centuries ago. That man is long dead. And as you say, it was the symptom of an undiagnosed mental illness."

"I'm sorry. I just... I'm sorry." He struggled internally with what he had witnessed. "It's impossible to understand that kind of act. That's what makes it unforgivable, I guess."

Noonien's gaze softened, he stood and approached the glass, without hostility. "It did upset me for a long time. He was supposed to be someone we could trust, but he betrayed us. Many do, particularly when they discover what we all are. But Gary Seven was predisposed to his weakness by forces he could not control, exposed to temptations which were genetically designed for charisma and physical superiority. He was doomed in spite of his good intentions. I knew it when he first arrived and I believe Ms. Lincoln knew it, too."

"You blame that on the way you were created? That you couldn't have friends, because you had to expect everyone to betray you?" McCoy shook his head. "Sounds bleak. What about the Sikhs?"

He smiled sadly. "After I helped them achieve their political necessity, they were hunted and beaten in their homes and in the streets. I could only protect my village when I wasn't in the compound, and if I spent too much time out of the compound, the project directors would have sent men with guns to find me, and would have shot every one of my adopted family. I was away too often and too long. They had to move to safety. They moved to England and I tried to follow them, but they were not much safer there after our home was destroyed. They... forgot me." He tilted his chin up a modicum and narrowed his eyes critically. "You said 'couldn't,' and 'had.'"

The doctor had difficulty smiling past the weighty gloom of the day's revelations, but he managed. "It has been puzzling the medical and scientific community since the late 2000s, that certain genetic alleles documented in the 1990s with the mapping of the human genome, have mostly died out. These alleles being the kind of thing that encourages reproductive success- aggression, impediments to compassion, negative neural feedback during the learning process. I think you did pursue the genetic sciences, and I think you did something." His face darkened. "Of course, that would make us all genetically modified. Which is in violation of Starfleet regulation. In fact, I think it was us who proposed that legislation, because of the Eugenics Wars."

"The irony hasn't escaped me. It also occurred to me while reading the histories of the time I spent asleep, that no alien race would ever have given humanity any technology if you had remained the way you naturally were. Humanity in the 21st century could not have joined Starfleet. Which makes the irony even more wonderful." He paused. "I am not proud of it, however. It may have taken humanity longer to develop to where you are now, but you would have learned more in that time. Perhaps, if it hadn't been forced upon you, you might have learned that a species ought to control its own biological destiny. Without that, you are just animals."

McCoy's frown became less sympathetic and more horrified. "How?"

"A virus. An ordinary, simple retrovirus loaded with a few lines of code and the necessary chemicals to splice them in. The same way humanity made bacteria produce insulin for them. I put it in the drinking water of London, Hong Kong, and Rio de Janeiro, and it affected gamete production in the host so that the next generation was better. It spread from host to host by fluid contact, so it was a mathematical matter of time before all of humanity was exposed. Back then, antiviral therapies were only used for people with ebola and the human immunodeficiency virus, so it was unlikely to be stopped before doing its work." He didn't smile or gloat. In fact, he looked a bit sad. "But recent events prove that I did not succeed as well as I had hoped."

"Climate change caused viral epidemics in the early 2100s, so antiviral therapies became mandatory for every human. Your virus only had three generations to work."

Noonien winced. "Bad luck. But worth the try. You seem so much more stable, now; so much more willing to learn and explore and experiment. And you've stopped warring with each other. Now you just war with others. I suppose even that is an improvement."

"I don't get you," McCoy scowled at him. "You talk down to us, about us, but you try to make us better in your own sick way."

"You were expecting genocide, perhaps?" He chuckled. "I don't want you to fail. I don't want anyone to fail. I want everyone to evolve. What I am is an abomination, but I am also a goal. Humanity can be better. Humanity can be like us, but without our flaws, without our brutality. You just have to make a concerted effort."

The doctor shook his head. "We did make a concerted effort to make people better, and it ended in war. Your wars. You were there to see it."

"Your histories are wrong," Noonien insisted. "We were made because of the war. The war was in the making long before we were. The Eugenics Wars were over resources and religious superstition. Genetic manipulation and selective breeding were only weapons, not reasons. And you banned it like you banned lead bullets, white phosphorous, and land mines, when you should have been banning the atom bomb, the drone, and the remote laser. There are vast differences between tools, methods, and ideas."

"You should write a book," McCoy told him, baiting.

"You'll put me back to sleep before I could do any good, for fear of me doing any harm. As well you should. After all," he paced back to his bench, turning his back to the doctor and ending the conversation, "Even my ideas are dangerous." But he paused, and repeated, "'Couldn't. And 'had'?"

This time, McCoy turned his back and walked away, feeling very mysterious and cryptic indeed.


	4. Four

From the notes of Doctor Leonard McCoy

Re: Noonien Singh Recording, Session 3

Noonien Singh and the other genetically engineered children left their home without looking back in any fashion, metaphorical or physical. He led them first to Lahore, where they stayed for several months. They stole what they needed to survive and did little to affect the political or societal happenings of the city. During the day, they stayed in a compound previously abandoned; they went out only in the cover of darkness. The time in the compound allowed Noonien to organize them and draw up a plan; they would go into the world in pairs, two per world power, to take control of that place. The plan was to be as unnoticeable as possible. First, they would find their way into whatever school or family was best suited for political climbing. Then, they would mold the global narrative into one that hid their acquaintance- no one could know that they were making a concerted effort. And once they had control of the narrative of power, the beliefs of people, taking over national governments was child's play.

As soon as they had money and connections enough to travel, they left Lahore in pairs. Noonien traveled first to southeast Asia, where he worked in close cooperation with the augment children in France and Britain to destabilize several countries. Once all was in chaos, he arranged for the installment of leaders he favored. Even as this was happening, he coordinated the European destabilization of Middle Eastern countries and the creation of new conflicts with the rest of the world. While the world was distracted with conflicts which seemed to be between sects of Muslims and between south Asian peoples, he personally traveled to troubled regions occupied by the People's Republic of China and arranged bombings and demonstrations, stirring discontent everywhere he went and making sure that nothing could lead back to him. The death toll of the havoc he personally orchestrated was greater than any typhoon or earthquake- but the death toll of that tangentially related to his actions was unimaginable.

African nations were easily tipped into chaos just as they were beginning to recover from brutal European imperialism. Nations in both North and South America were divided upon artificial 'left' and 'right' definitions. Old animosities in Asia were fanned from embers to flames. At the end of the 1980s, the Khan's own hand-picked leaders were in control of most of the earth. He began implementing policies from the top-down, some of which were very unpopular amongst his followers. Universal and free public education, support for medical research and advancements, and environmental protection measures angered most of his own people. Merciless enforcement of laws, forced sterilization of humans with violent tendencies, and public use of the death penalty angered all of his subjects. His own people began conspiring to kill him; on two occasions, they almost succeeded.

Those yet loyal to him nearly began a third world war using space-based weapons against those who opposed him. But he ordered them to stay their hand; the weapons would have damaged the earth's ozone layer, a sin he felt was unforgivable. Instead, he covertly sent human assassins armed with polonium poison to each of the traitors- and with waterborne retroviruses, engineered to alter human DNA.

Disgusted with the unwillingness of his own people to understand compassion and the intolerance of humanity for what they perceived to be tyranny, in 1996 he gathered the last eighty-three of his loyal followers in the deserts of New Mexico, their point of escape. They entered into a crude, early form of cryosleep, where most of them remain at the time of this recording; Noonien loaded them onto the SS Botany Bay and left the earth behind to its own failures. The navigation program was given orders to prevent damage to the ship, but no destination was given.

\--

Noonien returned to his cell silently, his mind somewhere else. He did not eat that evening or read, or listen to music, as he often did. The doctor visited to check on him late in the evening; he found the tyrant sitting and staring into nothing. Sensing that it was not time for a conversation, he completed his business and left with a polite but awkward, "Good night."

An hour later, the door opened and another visitor entered. Hikaru Sulu entered, bowed politely, and sat in front of the glass.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

"Please accept my deepest respect," Sulu said at last.

Noonien looked up, confused for a moment. "Explain."

"Your devotion to your people, even as they turned as a rabid dog turns, was inspiring. Even if I did not agree with all of your goals, you were playing the longest game that has ever been played, and you were true to the people around you. I hope to be as true as that."

Already narrow blue eyes narrowed further. "Aim higher. At the very least, kill less people, and you'll already have done better than I did."

Sulu smiled wryly. "Everybody dies."

"Tell that to the lives I prevented," Noonien snarked.

"You did it so we wouldn't have to. You are our grandfather, in that way. You shaped us and made us better, even though it hurt." He stood and bowed again. "Please accept my respect. Grandfather."

Noonien bowed in return by reflex, but wasn't certain he was able to accept. Had he been so effective?

Sulu left without further conversation, leaving the former Khan alone with his thoughts.


	5. Five

From the Notes of Commander Spock  
Re: Noonien Singh recording, Session 4

The memories of awakening in Admiral Marcus's care are less readable than others. We know from the ship's own computers that several of the cryo units malfunctioned during the time between launch and recovery, which is not surprising given the duration of the journey. It appears from Noonien's experiences that his own cryo unit began an automatic wake-up sequence but was interrupted. The resulting cardiopulmonary stress and physical shock put him through varying states of consciousness better described by Doctor McCoy. It is clear from the biophysical track of his memories that he was in physical pain when Marcus first approached and questioned him. He withheld his identity at first, and was rewarded with broken bones. Admiral Marcus ordered him to assist in the design of military strategies and weapons, as someone with expertise in the field. When the medical staff reported his unusual physicality to the Admiral, they were granted full permission to experiment as they saw fit, which was as gruesome as one might expect. Staff who disagreed with the course of experimentation were isolated from the 'project' and assigned to other work.

On more than one occasion, some or other activity left Noonien Singh close to death. The trauma which stands out most in his mind is that which brought him closest; but even then, he was uninterested in anything Marcus asked of him.

The head of the medical staff, identified as Doctor Fitzpatrick, made a biometric inventory of Noonien's body and designed an experiment around endurance and mental acuity under various stages of privation. The experiment is morally and primally offensive to any civilized being; the civilized reader is cautioned to prepare him- or herself before reading further.

In intervals of one week, for a duration of eight months, Mr. Singh was given incrementally less food and water, and was kept in a room which simulated fewer and fewer hours of daylight. He was subjected to daily physical and mental tests. The results were recorded and reported. In the eighth month, when Noonien was unable to walk or focus on written words, he asked what the purpose of the experiment could possibly be. Doctor Fitzpatrick replied that when Starfleet revived the rest of the augmented humans, they would need to know how to control them.

Noonien asked to speak to Admiral Marcus. Marcus arrived that evening to encounter a weakened and compliant prisoner, who acquiesced to designing and supervising the construction of the equipment of war. None of the others from his ship, he told Marcus, would do as good a job- better to leave them asleep.

Admiral Marcus expressed that he had the upper hand, that he could very well just let Noonien die and revive the next passenger of the Botany Bay, and start again. Noonien confirmed that he would indeed have to start again, and again, and the answers would be all the same- however, there was a certainty he did not express, that if Marcus admitted to killing their leader, the augmented humans would certainly destroy as much as possible before destroying themselves.

Admiral Marcus gave orders to end the experiment and rehabilitate Mr. Singh, which took a few weeks. Then he was escorted in chains to a drafting office with a cot and a washroom, where he was given access to Starfleet's own archives of technical and historical information under the alias Commander John Harrison. For months, he was not permitted to leave the office. He worked complete focus. Whenever his progress slowed, they would dim the lights in the office or reduce his ration of food. The stress of this torture was so complete that he had physical symptoms; weight loss, hair loss, tremors, and heart arrhythmia.

When Noonien completed the build of the Starship Vengeance and presented a strategy for goading the Klingons into open war while keeping the Federation cooperative, Admiral Marcus approved- and then ordered Doctor Fitzpatrick to terminate the other passengers of the Botany Bay.

The memories are, at this point, erratic. In a moment of desperation with strength granted doubtlessly from adrenaline, Noonien overpowered Marcus, killed Fitzpatrick, and fled from the facility using a transwarp transporter device which reminded him strongly of Gary Seven's invention. Using his knowledge of a London from long ago, Noonien made contact with the Sikh community and effectively disappeared. He plotted, without assistance, vengeance on Starfleet under the hope that the entire planet could not have been as corrupt as Admiral Marcus's special unit. He researched officers, facilities, and emergency plans, and was almost able to exact his revenge on Admiral Marcus with what he regarded as a mere handful of collateral casualties, but for the intervention of Captain James Kirk and myself at the emergency meeting of Starfleet commanders following the Section 31 archive bombing.

Under the doctor's order, we have terminated the recording at this time and will resume when the patient is better able

\--

"He went into shock, give him a minute." Doctor McCoy harped at the other medical staff as they disconnected the wires and at the security staff as they cuffed Noonien and bullied him to stand. "Step back a bit," he ordered. "He's not dangerous right now. Give him some air."

Noonien waited patiently and obeyed all orders given to him, his eyes fixed on the ground. A barely visible shiver passed through him from time to time.

McCoy saw it and interpreted it instantly. "Everyone in a Starfleet medical uniform, leave the room. Out! Security staff, two steps back, march!"

His staff fairly tripped over themselves. The security guards were ruffled and offended, but obeyed anyway.

"There, now. Would you like to go back to your cell, or stay here?"

Noonien, careful, looked up.

"You choose. We can cheer this place up a bit, if you want to stay. Put some music on, program some window views."

Spock wasn't completely certain what was happening, but he understood what the doctor was trying to do. He cleared his throat and raised his chin. "Any assistance that you require, we are at your service."

McCoy shot him a grateful look.

"I'd like to return to my cell," he said, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, then wrinkled his brow. "Did I scream?"

"Yeah, you... Yes." McCoy let Noonien stand when he was ready, and walked between him and the security guards all the way back to the cell.

Once the glass separated them again, Noonien asked quietly, "Spock. Please remain here."

Spock complied, waiting for the security staff to verify the cell lock and leave.

"If your vitals do anything funny, I'll be back here before you can blink," McCoy promised, then gave them some privacy.

The silence lingered for a moment after the door closed. Noonien couldn't bring himself to make eye contact, but managed to ask in a clear voice, "Will you meditate with me?"

Spock nodded once.

An hour later, Nyota Uhura entered to find them sitting seiza, facing each other through the glass, eyes closed. She sat next to Spock and waited patiently.

Spock opened his eyes at once and tipped his head back slightly.

"Bones told me," she whispered.

Noonien, wary, looked up.

"I don't forgive you for San Francisco," she clarified, raising her chin a little. "But I think I understand now."

Spock squashed the impulse to feel surprise.

"It was..." Noonien cleared his throat, paused, and started again. "It is embarrassing to have been played twice the same way. When I met you and your captain on Kronos, I hoped that there were still parts of humanity that were good- is it racist to say humanity, now?"

"Somewhat," Spock replied, "But you have not had the time to adjust your speaking patterns to the fact of extraterrestrial civilizations. It would be wrong to fault you for that."

He nodded. "It seems foolish that we believed ourselves alone in the universe for so long. Humanity was so desperate for some sense of the Other that they created gods and spirits and eventually my people. We are an expression of faith in the immutable destiny of humanity and its lonely need for companionship from creatures other than themselves. But it still seems magical, almost, that they survived themselves long enough to meet others- real Others, from places so distant that they were outside the realm of common thought. It's almost beyond believing and incredibly beautiful. Even yourself, Lieutenant, you are the result of all of this! When I was a boy, your country was under near constant attack from people who couldn't tolerate the culture of others; first European powers who tried to subjugate your ancestors, then cultural imperialists that could not abide independence of thought and ways of life different than their own. Your people endured and progressed in spite of all of that. And you! Whose female ancestors were forced into roles incongruous to their abilities, you are a linguist and a cultural specialist, a highly educated person and an officer. You are strong and unafraid. Tell me what these databases and reports could never tell me- what is the universe like?"

Nyota's cheeks were past warm. "It's beautiful. There are civilizations that live under water, some that breathe sulphur, many that lay eggs. There's one civilization that speaks entirely through transmission of visual ideas directly to the brain. Some are more developed than we are, some are less developed, and some developed in such a completely different direction that we have to change our concept of progress to understand their existence. We govern together and explore together, because the universe is so vast. There must be more of us out there, all we have to do is meet them. Meet us."

"Us," he repeated softly. "What an amazing universe. You don't say 'species' or 'race,' you say 'civilization.' Us." His eyes shone bright, but his gaze dropped to the floor; his eyes closed and forced out a tear. "Oh, Lieutenant. I wish I had been born the lowest peasant in your world."

She pressed her lips together for a moment, trying to contain the question that beat at her mind. She failed. "If that were true, why did you kill so many?"

"No one tried to understand us," he said, eyes still closed. "I woke up in Hell and it was their people and my people. When I met you, I thought there may be some hope yet, that in accepting what was fundamentally alien you had learned some tolerance for differences, that we could live in some way. I confess, at that time I still thought we would be your masters, but I suppose you'll have none of that now. The children have grown up and moved out of the house. I thought I could lead you to the truth, and you would help me to free my people. Then your captain turned on me, on the bridge of the Vengeance. I... didn't expect..."

Spock contemplated his conversation with his older self. Had his own suspicion been so strong as to overpower logic? Would greater knowledge of his "enemy's" background have prevented such an outcome? Would they have been able to overpower Marcus without Noonien? Kirk had been suspicious of Noonien already; nothing else could have happened.

"I killed people who threatened me and mine," Noonien said at last. "No matter how I try to improve humanity, no matter how alike we may be, it's always going to be this way- because you didn't find us and study us. We're not a civilization. We're not another species. We're you and not you." He looked up again, an infinite weariness hanging from his body and mind like a funeral shroud. "We've never been ready to know each other."

Nyota was helpless and miserable in the face of his conclusion. Even though they shared a genetic, cultural, and linguistic history, they were strangers.

Noonien stood and turned his back on them. "I'm sorry we had to meet this way. He should have let me sleep."

\--

Spock and Uhura left the facility that evening and called together Sulu, Chekov, and Scott.

"We need your help," Nyota told them. "The Archives don't exist anymore, but we need to find something."


	6. Six

Noonien Singh barely slept that night, or the following nights. When he did sleep, it was a roller coaster, out-of-order experience of past reality and fabrication. The sensation in his palms of the back of the neck of each of his people, so dependent on him, as he guided them to lay back in the cryotubes, knowing that they may never wake again. Marcus, lifting his people up from those tubes and smashing their brains on the floor. The sickening smell of broken bones and burning flesh on battlefields long overgrown. The tight squeezing sensation in his chest as he hoped and hoped and dumped a virus into the Hong Kong water mains and wished there was a god worth praying to. The sickening lurch of the Botany Bay as it launched, the more sickening lurch of apprehension when he lay himself in a cryotube, alone, responsible, closing his eyes for too long. Marcus's brains oozing between his fingers. Watching Lieutenant Uhura march out to talk to the Klingons on Qo'nos, knowing somehow in his metaphorical loins that she might as well be his granddaughter. Letting James Kirk punch him, with the tickle of amusement in his chest at the audacity of this tiny little bug thinking he could possibly be broken by a human fist. Spock looking very pleased for a Vulcan, as the torpedoes detonated. The shaking, burning rage of the crashing ship echoing the shaking, burning rage of his own destroyed soul. The tearing feeling in his very center when his own people turned on him in Paris, in Dubai, in Hong Kong. A poisoned knife sinking into his body between the ribs in his back, held there by a man, a boy- the offspring of the first generation of the Children of Chrysalis. Being shot on the bridge of the Vengeance.

He awoke holding his side, still feeling the knife in his back and the phaser that echoed it perfectly on the other side of him.

"Mr. Singh?" a voice prompted from outside the glass.

"I'm well," he responded, voice hoarse from the past few nights. "Just a nightmare."

It had become a routine between he and Dr. McCoy. It would have seemed shameful and invasive for anyone to see such weakness, but that the witness was a doctor and a professional. The doctor had only offered drugs once and after being refused did not offer again. Instead, patiently, he appeared every time Noonien's vitals jumped.

"Your blood pressure gets so high that sometimes I'm sure you're going to have a stroke," Bones admitted. "Tea? Cocoa?"

"Coffee," he requested.

"Because that's just what your blood pressure needs." Bones snarked, but punched it into the replicator anyway, and ordered one for himself. "Caffeine."

"My favorite drug," Noonien said warmly, taking the cup from the unit inside the cell. He inhaled the familiar smell.

"Do you want to talk about them?" he offered carefully.

Noonien said nothing, sipping his coffee instead. After a long silence, he admitted, "I can still feel where I was stabbed and where I was shot. Not the ones from the battlefield, but the others. Where Scott shot me, it was right in line with where Liu Qibao's son stabbed me in the back. It could almost be an exit wound." He sipped his coffee again, hand shaking slightly.

McCoy said nothing.

"It hurts to know I could be so stupid," he continued his confession. "Twice. Four times. Every time."

"You would have killed us if it meant saving your people," Bones defended gently. "Can you expect any less from us?"

"You and my family weren't supposed to be mutually exclusive goals after you understood what happened. I thought, once I explained what Marcus had done, you'd help me retrieve them. Then-" he stopped short.

McCoy tipped his head to the side. "Then, what? Then we could all be friends? Then we would join you while you cleansed the universe of the unworthy?"

"We never killed people based on the arbitrary criteria common to human genocides," he parried impatiently. "We sterilized people whose genetics were unfit to continue and encouraged those who wanted to embrace evolution. We never forced anyone to reproduce, we never cloned anyone, we never murdered children. Better than anyone else in our time, really. At that time, religiously fundamentalist nations were enacting their rape fantasies in legal terms by forbidding women the right to make their own decisions and even the most developed of nations didn't see anything amiss about underaged non-combatants becoming 'collateral damage' in the petty disputes between governments. Tell me, would you rather live in my world, or Hitler's world? Mine, or the Golden Dawn's Greece? Dario Kordic's Bosnia? Or Fred Phelp's America?"

He let that hang in the air for a bit before he continued. "We fought to destroy the arbitrary concepts of race, religion, and borders. To make one humanity- a better humanity- according to the scientific and ethical knowledge of the time. You would judge us for that?"

McCoy sipped his coffee and considered. "No, but I would prevent you from doing it again."

"You would," Noonien laughed sadly. "Even as your engineer and your captain did, trying to prevent me from killing a man who so sorely deserved it. I come from a time of wolves, doctor. You come from a time of lambs. What would have happened, I wonder, if I had not been here to destroy Admiral Marcus? Would a peaceful league of peoples been strong enough to survive a war with these new wolves, the Klingons?"

"Who gave Marcus the fangs to think he could start one, if not you?" McCoy countered.

Noonien turned his head as if physically slapped.

"While we're being unfair, I mean. Since we obviously would never have overcome racism and religious intolerance in our own time, let's discuss what happened as if there had been no god-damned choice." Bones dropped his empty cup in the bin. "Marcus never finds you. Marcus never gets your brain, your experience, or your arrogance to help him start a war. Marcus never starts a war, because we haven't had one in centuries and have no idea how that kind of thing even works. Everything proceeds as normal and nobody has to die."

Noonien stared at the floor.

"Don't tell me I out-argued you!" he laughed with a kind of bitterness. "Unbelievable."

"While we're playing at hypotheticals," he exhaled, straightening his posture, "Imagine a world in which my people are never born and your people toil along in overpopulation, war, famine, and all the general squalor of mean existence. We never have to suffer. You just peter out, choking on your own shit, and leave behind a burned-down earth for your new civilizations to discover." He stood, returned to the cot in the back of his cell, eased himself onto it, but did not lie down. "If only it had been so."

Bones sighed. "This isn't working." He set a port ring on the glass and drew it wide, tearing a hole into the barrier between them. He stepped through and deactivated it from the other side, glass resealing.

"What are you doing?" Noonien demanded, sitting up again. His voice gave away that he wasn't his usual unassailable self.

"You need to experience what was done to you or it's going to kill you," he informed him. "I hoped I could just piss you off and you'd work through it on your own, but there's really no way to make you angry without making you too angry, is there?"

He growled a warning. "You're in a cage with an animal, Doctor."

"You would've killed me by now, if you were going to," he dismissed, steeled himself, and walked over to the cot. He stood out of arm's reach, knowing that it wouldn't buy him a single nanosecond to react if something went wrong.

There was really only one thing that could go wrong, anyway.

"You're still mostly human. Horrific things happened to you, and when horrific things happen, people break down. Maybe not immediately, maybe not all at once, but it happens. There are psychological repercussions to- What are you laughing at?"

Noonien was laughing in a way that started and abruptly stopped, just to start again. He shook his head. "There is no way to know."

"Know what?"

"There is no way to know what the psychological repercussions would be," he reasoned even as his chest seemed to tighten and his heart pounded anew. "Nothing like this has ever happened to anyone in the history of ever." He paused, then looked up at the doctor with a broken kind of amusement. "You should write a paper. Probably earn you a research position somewhere. I can go back to being a lab rat-" he stopped suddenly. The air simply ran out of him. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs wouldn't expand. He wrapped his arms around his chest and doubled over.

"That's it," Bones told him gently. He sat down and put a hand on his back. "You're going to be okay."

Noonien made a noise that could have been a gasp or a scoff. He dug his fingers into his ribs and grit his teeth.

"This is a panic attack," the doctor explained. "You've probably never had one. Try to breathe slowly. It will pass. I'm right here and I've got an eye on your vitals, so you're safe. You're completely safe here."

It was a long moment before he managed to draw in a breath. When he released it, a stream of words came out with it. "They trapped me in the dark. Cut me open and took me apart and put things in me and took them out again. It shouldn't be so bad, it's only a body. It's only a body and they trapped me in it. Helpless, I was... I was helpless and weak. It was always darker when they wanted to take more from me."

Bones moved his hand up and down the madman's back. "They can't do it anymore."

"They can," he whispered. "They can and they always are. Too weak to get them back. Too weak to fight, to move, too weak to defend my family. They chained me in this body and made me watch."

"We won't let that happen again. Ever."

"It's all for nothing," he managed. "All the work, all the planning, nothing. So you could go to the stars and back stab and hate. I wanted better for you, but it was all for nothing." By an immense force of will, he controlled his breathing and sat up a little, his usual rigid posture gone. "It's impossible. It's all impossible. There's nothing to be done. I should be dead. Help me," he turned to look up at the doctor, open and desperate and pitifully defenseless. "Help me die. I know you can."

Bones smiled sadly. "You know, it might come to that. They just might execute you. And if that's your sentence, I'll be by your side then. But I won't help you kill yourself."

He exhaled raggedly and folded over, eyes closing again.

The door of the room whisked open and Nyota entered in a graceful hurry. She stopped short when she saw the doctor in the cell. "Uh-"

Bones patted Noonien on the back gently. "It's been a long sort of day. What's the news?"

Nyota smiled uncertainly. "We found something."


	7. Chapter 7

The trial went as poorly as expected. The crimes were presented first, and victims' families made statements. Though execution was heavily debated in the media and in homes on most Federation planets, ultimately it was never considered by the court. When the Enterprise crew gave their accounts, the jury wavered. When Doctor McCoy presented key points from the Noonien Singh recordings, the jury recessed. The full recordings were made available. None doubted that the entire jury viewed them in their own time.

It was decided that the attack on the archives and on the Vengeance were, in a circuitous way, self defense. The murder of Admiral Marcus was temporary insanity. The crash of the Vengeance into San Francisco was involuntary manslaughter. As much faith as people wanted to have in their institutions, only the most insistent bothered to postulate that presenting himself to the Federation and asking justice would have had any reasonable result.

But what to do with a superhuman madman? Noonien submitted a letter to the court requesting that he be placed back into cryosleep, his crew placed on a more dependable dormitory ship, and that they be returned to the hands of Fate. But the letter never got to the court- it stayed in Spock's desk for many years, an odd sort of souvenir of a terrible adventure. As he himself had guessed, Noonien was indeed put back into cryosleep due to the fear of future harm. It wasn't execution, but it was, for all anyone knew, eternal sleep.

Almost anyone.

On the day of the sentence, Spock and Dr. McCoy appeared at the wall of the cell, backed by three of their colleagues. Nyota, Pavel, and Hikaru stood quietly by, oddly giddy, strangely excited, and obviously keeping something to themselves.

"It was decided, then?" he asked, already knowing.

McCoy nodded, but kept a half smile. "You and your people are under a protective order; no one from the Federation will touch them. But they want to put you back under. I requested that we be allowed to do it."

He nodded, standing and moving toward the glass. "I will cooperate. Thank you all for the roles you must have had in my defense." He looked around. "There are no security personnel."

Spock clipped the port ring over and pulled it wide, a door opening between them. "Would you like there to be?"

Noonien smiled not dangerously. "I will cooperate."

"Please do. We have prepared an up-to-date cryotube, but the procedure is still extensive. Doctor McCoy will supervise. Is there anything you would like to do or say, first?"

"Thank you. I am sorry. Will-" he stopped, then raised his chin slightly and started again. "Are there any plans to ever revive us? Or is this... is this it?"

"Starfleet has no plans for reviving you or your people," Spock told him.

Noonien looked at the ground. "Then thank you, I am sorry, and goodbye." He followed them into the next room and cooperated as promised, climbing into the glass and metal coffin that awaited. As he leaned back, the doctor gave him and injection of sedative to begin slowing his functions.

"Goodbye," McCoy told him as he did.

Spock moved to help guide his head into the apparatus meant to keep it in place, but at the last moment froze in place.

Noonien's vision distorted, fell away. He rushed through an atlas of stars and planets, light and void, slowed, hovered over a vast planet of windy steppes and dusty highlands. A wide, blue sky reached out in every direction, a bright star filled the sky with golden light. A familiar voice whispered and echoed and orated and suggested at the same time. _Ceti Alpha V. Habitable, but inhospitable. You will be left alone here to live as you please. To the end of your days, and the days of your grandsons._

In a blink, Spock was out of his head again, but still close enough to hear an amused whisper. "You do lie all the same."

Spock, sharing the rushing, joyous relief of Noonien, couldn't help but add, "We will be there when you wake up. We will take you home."

The metal and glass coffin closed around Noonien and filled with inert gases. The last they saw before he closed his eyes was a wide, fond smile.


End file.
